


Sour like Lemons

by I_write_fanfiction_not_tragedies



Series: Sweet Like Chocolate [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2nd person POV, First War with Voldemort, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_write_fanfiction_not_tragedies/pseuds/I_write_fanfiction_not_tragedies
Summary: Sour like lemons, sticky like honey, sweet like chocolate. He really tries, doesn't he?





	Sour like Lemons

You slam the door to the flat with a satisfactory crash. The light in the hallway flickers. You barley notice him in the entrance to the study, you're too preocupied with the news Dumbledore's just given you. You have to go back to the werewolf colony.

So you storm off to the kitchen, still wearing your scarf, his muffled footsteps behind you. You're searching for a kettle when he removed your scarf and offers you the honey, only to disappear back into the study to continue writing. So you make tea.

The book you're reading is, really, dreadfully boring, but you aren't paying attention. There's this one damn spot that your binder is pinching and it's just a constant reminder that _you aren't normal_. There's no way you will ever fit it. Not even with other werewolves.

He offered. To pay for it. The surgery. You refused. You aren't a charity case. But now you're dating, actually _together_ , and he insists it's different. So you compromised. If you get a job and make enough money to pay for it, you'll pay for it yourself. But if he finishes his book first, and it's a success, he'll pay. You doubt his book will be a success, but you know he doesn't need the money from it. He just likes writing. Which is what he's doing now. Writing. So you're alone with your thoughts, and you know how very dangerous that can be.

It's after midnight when he comes into the bedroom, his hair a slight mess and his smile more lopsided usual.  
"You didn't have to stay awake."  
He says, taking off his shirt and tossing it into the hamper. (good.) You feel a twinge of jealousy. You'll never at ease with your body to that extent.  
"Couldn't sleep any way."  
You mumble, setting down the mug and closing the book. You don't look him in the eye. You'll have to tell him you're going away again, and you are not looking forward to that. You know it's just your paranoid mind, but he seems wary of you every time you say it. Every time you come back he distances himself a little more. When he slips into bed, you shift your binder uncomfortably.  
"How long have you been wearing that?"  
He asks. 'Too long.' You think, but don't answer.  
"Remus."  
His voice is stern. You know he only means well, but you still say, "Since this morning", with a bitter edge to your voice.  
"You know you're only supposed to wear it for eight hours."  
"Eight to ten."  
You argue. You know, you know, how can you forget? Who's he to remind _you_?  
"And it's been... Seventeen?"  
Eighteen. Maybe twenty, you woke up several hours before he did. But you don't say. He reaches over and starts to pull it off your shoulders but you whisper  
"Wait."  
You stand up and continue taking the binder off, facing away from him. You don't want him to help with this. It is all you, all your own mind. You can't help with this.  
"There are spells that do the same job. They're safer, and easier."  
As if you haven't tried them.  
"They only last a couple hours."  
The lights dim.  
"Maybe we only need a few hours."  
His arms wrap around you, and you freeze, but you feel the spell he casts over your body. He really does care,  
you think. He's trying so hard. But still.  
"You don't understand. But you're trying. And I love you for that."  
You lean down and kiss him. You were always taller, a werewolf thing, you guess, since your parents are both short. He tastes like lemons and tea, you think. Chocolate tea. Your favorite, the kind he bought for you for your birthday, and you'd been sharing ever since. You know he means well, and you know you have to go through your problems alone. But for now, for right now, you think it's okay to share just a little.


End file.
